never should've asked for black leather
by frizzoli
Summary: Maura gets distracted. Jane is wearing leather. Shenanigans ensue. M for obvious reasons, intended two-shot. Femslash AU set after 2x02, "Living Proof". Reviews always appreciated!
1. Chapter 1

On a few very rare occasions, Maura has been present when a takedown happened, right in front of her. She prefers to avoid those situations, because they're dangerous- in more than one way.

She has never really brought into question what she'd call her 'sexuality' if someone asked about it. The fact is that most people find the subject too taboo, even in today's society, and prefer not to bring it up in conversation.

She knows, from research, from overhearing things, from articles and journals she's read, that in many conservative areas of the nation there exists a kind of stubborn ignorance, a refusal to acknowledge the emergence of confidence in people with 'different' sexualities; it seems to her like most people who haven't voiced their opinions condemning homosexuality have a tendency to quietly allow it but would rather not hear about it.

This is where the takedowns come into play. Maura is attracted to Jane. Jane is attracted to Maura. It's nothing more complicated or angst-ridden than that. They've come to a tacit decision not to do anything about it but what they already do, which is mostly innocuous flirtation. They're friends first and foremost, so for the majority of the time their relationship isn't in the least bit uncomfortable. As long as Maura doesn't see Jane consumed with the focused, predatory grace that takes the detective over when she cuffs a culprit.

But, God. Maybe it's the oxycontin rushing through her veins from holding that baby boy and the adrenaline of a hostage situation, maybe it's the amount of sexual tension that's built up between them, as it would in any two people who are attracted to each other and spend so many hours together, maybe it's a little of both, but when Jane swings herself around and slams nurse Randi into the counter it awakens something ridiculously primal in Maura. Something she has to fight down because it's completely inappropriate in any situation, but especially in **this** particular situation. Lust.

Sometimes she slips up. Spends so long thinking about how Jane operates that she ends up thinking about how she… 'operates'.

The clay bath should help, but it doesn't, not much. It distracts Maura long enough for her to get herself back under control, but her subconscious is still painfully aware (she knows that's an oxymoron but she can't help it, her attraction to Jane **is** oxymoronic) of what Jane does to her. And that means that she dreams. She wakes up with the sheets tangled all around her legs, a thin sheen of sweat covering her body, and a greatly increased heart rate. She sighs, leans back into the pillows again, and stops pretending as if she can forget. It's not as if she wants Jane to _hurt_ her, exactly, but as someone who always has so much control over everything she does…the idea of someone taking that control, someone she trusts implicitly, is more than a little arousing. Especially given Jane's athletic physique.

Somewhere in her occipital cortex a fantasy starts to grow- _hot breath on the back of her neck, Jane's front pressed against her back, fingers tight around her wrists and no love lost between them._

She's not sure how she'd broach the subject with Jane, even if she were brave enough to do it. There's no acceptable way to tell your best friend that you want her to pin you up against something solid and-

"Maur?"

She jerks violently out of her reverie, violently enough that she narrowly misses cutting off her finger as she chops up the vegetables she's planning on putting in her omelet. She looks up to see Jane in plainclothes- jeans, leather jacket, keys dangling from one hand and a bag of what looks like books under her other arm.

…_or, instead, hot breath on the back of her neck and leather pressed against her arms and Jane's voice in her ear._

It's one thing to dream. It's another thing entirely to have a whole fantasy play out in your mind while you're standing four feet away from the person the fantasy's about.

"I came to drop off some of Ma's books- she's working and she wanted to… are you okay?"

Maura begins to count the muscles she can see moving in Jane's face and neck. Platysma, procerus, obicularis oculi, obicularis oris…she's smiling. And that's when Maura realizes her fatal mistake- she's got a strand of her own hair wound tightly around her finger like some sort of schoolgirl too shy to admit what she wants. Which is ridiculous, because they both _know,_ and they've been handling their mutual attraction like adults for months.

"Why, doctor Isles," Jane says, in the tone of voice she reserves for moments when she knows she has the upper hand with Maura- rare, but oh-so-savored by them both, "I believe that's a sign of _sexual frustration_." The bag of books finds its way onto the seat of one of the bar stools and Maura shakes her head, hastily dropping her hand.

"Not always," she counters weakly, "it can be a simple habit, too, depending on…"

She trails off. Jane's in front of her within moments, hands on her hips, an expectant, amused look on her face. Their respectful game of 'don't ask, don't tell' has turned into cat-and-mouse, and Jane has her trapped. In fact, she's pretty sure she trapped herself.

"….circumstance."

"You don't have that habit," Jane states, her amused little smile slowly but surely turning into a smirk. Maura shakes her head again, this time in agreement, because, as always, she refuses to lie. No, she doesn't have the habit of twirling her hair around her finger. If she had she would have actively sought to rid herself of it; it's entirely unprofessional. This whole thing is clearly some kind of a game for Jane, whose eyes give her away completely, relaying her excitement where Maura only feels apprehension.

And confusion. She had assumed- guessed, even- that Jane didn't want anything but friendship from her. She had assumed that when her inability to answer "are we having a sleepover or is this your way of saying you're attracted to me?" had successfully exposed that she was, indeed, **very** attracted to Jane. She seems to have overestimated. She has the tendency to overestimate everybody else's ability to read emotions off of other people, which is why she so adamantly refuses to guess about anything.

In the middle of the night she sometimes guessed things silently to herself just for the thrill- she'd guess at what Jane's hands might feel like on her skin, and what her lips might taste of if she ever got up the nerve to kiss her, and those guesses were okay because there was no time or place where they might be proved wrong.

"Maura," Jane murmurs, arching an eyebrow, "is there something you want?"

What an absurd question. What a stupid, stupid, **stupid** thing to ask **anybody** about **anything**. And especially when the answer, as in Maura's current case, is so painfully obvious. She opens her mouth to say something, but the words won't come out right away, and she gapes like a fish until her brain catches up with her and she manages to whisper a hoarse 'yes'. Jane waits. Maura swallows harshly and adds, although she feels it's fairly redundant, "you."

Jane swoops in for the kill without giving Maura a moment to prepare herself and she finds that her guess about Jane's lips had been right; when she tugs Jane's lower lip between her teeth Jane makes a vague noise of approval and steadies herself with one hand against the counter next to Maura's hip. She's not surprised that the aggressiveness of their day-to-day banter carries over into that kiss. Really, she's not.

Jane tastes like coffee with too much sugar, just how she prefers to drink it. It's good, for lack of a stronger word- it's very _good_, the way Jane's hips press insistently against hers, the way Jane's hair feels between her fingers as she threads them in and pulls her even closer.

Jane tries to pull back to speak, but Maura doesn't let her. She doesn't have the patience for it and she's sure Jane's just going to gloat or make some sarcastic comment, when the _other_ things her mouth could be doing instead are far superior. Jane's stronger than her, though, so for a moment she loses contact, just for long enough that Jane manages to breathe her name. She doesn't answer but she leans up to kiss Jane again, and then something…happens.

Jane pushes her. Not hard- not nearly hard enough- but she does it; she shoves Maura back against the counter and Maura drops her hands to the smooth granite and closes her eyes and tries her hardest to choke back the frustrated little whine that gets out of her anyway. She can literally _hear_ Jane realize what it is she wants. The detective's grip on her waist loosens and she exhales something that sounds a lot like 'oh, wow'. Everything is heightened, in this state, and because so much of her blood is rushing away from her head, Maura knows she's lacking appropriate amounts of oxygen to retaliate or save face. She can't. In fact, her coordination is so limited by her current state of arousal that the best she can do is let some warped version of her fantasy bubble up.

"I need you to take control," she says, knees beginning to tremble. "I need you to take control away from me."

"Okay," is Jane's breathless reply, "Okay. Yeah. I can do that."

"Stop talking."

Another push, this time a little harder. The granite bites into Maura's back where her shirt has been pushed up and she outright gasps at the contact. Jane growls in her ear and she shivers hard, scrabbling for purchase on the slick granite with clammy hands and blunt nails. "Don't tell me what to do."

"Jane-"

Before she has time to react Jane has her completely spun around, bent forward at the waist just enough that the detective can cover Maura's shaking hands with her own. "Let me do this for you," Jane practically purrs into her ear, and oh _God_ the real thing is thousands of times better than Maura's expansive imagination could ever conjure up.

_Leather pressed up against her arms and Jane's shallow breath in her ear and her entire body burning from within; all of it leaves her breathless and broken open and she's sure Jane can see everything she's ever felt or hoped for in that moment._

Jane's lips find the shell of her ear and Maura wouldn't be able to move even if she wanted to. The secondary rush of arousal weakens her knees enough that Jane is quite literally holding her up. 'Weak in the knees' is an overused cliché but something that does actually physically happen- at some point, Maura knew the word for it, but now she's not sure she knows any words at all besides Jane's name. She doesn't get turned on very easily. She's not sure how long it's been since she has ached so badly for someone, but she's so glad that it's Jane. Jane, who really does understand her, who shifted so seamlessly into the role Maura asked her to fill that she's left wondering if the fantasy was a shared one.

Jane's fingers slip between hers, and whatever it is Jane's doing with her teeth and her tongue is enough to distract her until she can gets her wits about her and twist in the detective's arms.


	2. Chapter 2

**a/n: **thanks for all the reviews! I'll admit I know shit nothing about hormones and body parts and all that crap; I'm more of a Rizzoli than an Isles and I always appreciate input from someone who actually knows what they're talking about. Hope this satisfies you guys!

* * *

><p>Jane's lips are inches from hers and Maura can't help but begin the fight in earnest. She pushes her hips forward and is rewarded when Jane bites down on her lower lip, <em>hard<em>, just as Maura pulls violently at Jane's jacket. All that leather slides right off Jane's arms and it's almost a shame until the shirt is gone too and Maura can feel the whole length of Jane's torso pressing insistently against her own. She barely has any time to get her hands on Jane's impressive abdominal musculature before her own shirt is being tugged insistently over her head.

And that's when all hell breaks loose.

Jane lifts her up and she's sitting on the counter with her back against the cabinet behind her. Her hands find their way into Jane's hair and she tugs. "Tease," Jane mutters into her neck, reaching around behind Maura's back to fumble with the clasp of her bra. The bra is tossed away and Maura has only just kicked off her shoes when Jane gets to work rendering her entirely incapable of speech.

She's lost control of her ability to figure out where Jane's mouth is and where her own hands are. She can only feel the warmth of that mouth, sucking hard at her collarbone, moving erratically over her chest, hardly settling anywhere for any length of time. Torturing her, she's sure, is the plan. And it's working quite well. Meanwhile she thinks she might be literally _pulling_ Jane's hair in her attempts to do something with herself.

Heat prickles along her arms, down her spine, into her fingers and toes and settles low in her stomach, heavy and dangerous. Not as dangerous as Jane. It hadn't even occurred to Maura what Jane would be like in this situation, past, perhaps, the initial fantasy. Jane, when loosed upon a writhing, panting Maura, is downright feral. She doesn't speak. She _growls_. She grunts. She doesn't seem to have a bedroom or a couch in her plans and Maura doesn't have any intent to argue with that.

Jane's hips thrust forward again and Maura can't keep herself from moaning breathlessly, realizing belatedly that her fingernails are digging into Jane's back. Maura only remembers she has neighbors about two seconds before Jane pushes up her skirt and yanks her panties down her legs. It's all she can do to bite down on Jane's shoulder and muffle another groan as Jane's hand dives back down between her legs.

Not good enough.

"_Jane_."

Her head falls back against the cabinet with a 'thunk' and she buries her hands once more in Jane's hair. Her hips come forward of their own accord, again and again thrusting needily against Jane's questing fingers. It's not gentle. It's not loving. It's not tender. It's fast and hard and the cabinet shakes until Maura is sure that her good plates are going to fall and break all over the floor. It's Jane's teeth against her ear and wild hair between her fingers and the sound of their breathing and moaning intermingling. It's perfect.

After a few moments Maura's hands fall to Jane's shoulders as she tries to steady herself, but it's really a lost cause. Jane's hardly letting her breathe, between the pace she's keeping and her insistent, teasing kisses. It's embarrassingly soon that Maura finds herself trembling, her back arching and her lips leaving Jane's as she struggles to breathe. She's literally seconds away from release when Jane pulls back and barely touches her, with her fingers _and _her lips.

Maura whines.

She's fairly sure she has never made such an embarrassing noise in her entire life. She claws down Jane's back in an attempt to make her _do_ something but nothing happens. Jane just chuckles, and there's barely any pressure but there's so much pressure _inside_ of her that she feels like she might spontaneously combust any moment. "If you don't move," she pants, knowing that she's barely coherent, "I'll take care of it myself."

Jane laughs again. She angles her hand up, just slightly, and at some point Maura knew what the name was of that spot she's hitting but she's fairly sure that only about an eighth of her neurons are firing. Maura opens her mouth to speak but a helpless moan comes out instead. Jane's lips are by her ear again by the time she realizes exactly far in over her head she really is, the detective is speaking.

"That's the right spot, isn't it?" she asks, her voice rougher that Maura has ever heard it. She can only moan again in reply, pushing her hips forward. "Should I let you, Maura? Should I let you come? Is that how your fantasy goes?"

Maura shivers. Jane's still not touching her enough and she's not sure which answer will get her what she wants. "Please," is what she opts for, forcing her eyes open, taken aback by the undeniable tenderness in Jane's expression. "Please."

She gets what she wants, in every possible way. Jane obliges and it's barely moments later that she's shuddering, burying her face in Jane's neck to muffle her continuous groans. As if it's her cue Jane drops the dominant role and wraps her arms tightly around Maura. They stay like that for a while. Maura recovers, eventually, though she's not sure how long it is before she realizes how Jane is holding her and gets a thrill of a very different kind.

She shifts and presses her forehead to Jane's, taking a deep breath. "I should have done that a long time ago," the detective says. "Yes," Maura agrees. "But I thought you knew how I felt, so it's partially my fault."

Maura slides off the counter and starts gathering their clothes. She picks up Jane's shirt instead of her own and slips into it without really thinking about it. It's not the first time she's worn Jane's clothes, but this time she does it at least partially because she knows Jane won't fit into her blouse and she'd like to have a little bit longer to ogle. Jane seems to like the arrangement, too. She follows Maura to the bedroom silently, but the smirk on her face gives her away.

She flops onto Maura's bed like she belongs there. Maura likes to think that Jane _does_ belong there- and she really likes to think that Jane's leather jacket draped over the footboard might someday become a permanent fixture. Jane's shirt is all that she's wearing when she crawls into bed. Jane grins when Maura straddles her, but stops her in her tracks when she reaches up to brush her fingertips across where she can feel Maura's pulse. "You're going to have a mark tomorrow," she acknowledges smugly. "Everyone's going to know you're taken."

Maura raises an eyebrow, but she can't help the smile that brings. "Am I taken?" Jane flips them before Maura even knows she's been had, and when she looks up and sees the glint in Jane's eyes she knows she's going to like the answer.

"Do you need me to go over it again?"  
>"Yes <em>please<em>."

And they do.


End file.
